The temple itself was one of the wonders of the empire—a huge, glittering structure, more glass than stone, like a great cut gem set into the earth beside the Godsway, panes flashing in the midmorning light. The Godsway itself stretched out to the east and west, wide enough that fifty horsemen could ride abreast without brushing the shops and stalls to the north or south, the avenue cleaving the city like a sword stroke. Both the temple and the Godsway, however, shrank to insignificance beneath Intarra’s Spear. Even a mile distant, it loomed overhead, a terrible, impossible splinter. The priests of Intarra had tried to build their temple outside of its shadow, but nothing in Annur was beyond that shadow, and Adare found herself staring at it, trying to make sense of the scale. It was hard to appreciate the Spear’s height from inside the Dawn Palace, but standing in the center of the Godsway, gazing up at the tower’s top, she felt dizzy, as though she might lose her footing and fall upward into the open sky. With an effort, she looked down, finding the flagstones, then over at Lehav, who was studying her intently.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Adare said, extending a hand.

“Thank the goddess instead.”

Adare nodded piously. “No doubt it was Intarra herself who sent you. I will be forever grateful, Lehav.”

He didn’t smile or take her hand. “You speak as though we were parting ways.”

“No,” she replied, hastily shaking her head. “We will be sharing the path together.” She gestured to the pilgrims thronging in front of the temple. “I hope to come to know you much better in the days to come.”

“And I,” he replied, narrowing his eyes in a way that made her shiver, “will hope to know you better as well. Dorellin.”

Hundreds had gathered for the long trek, some young and alone, carrying no more than a light pack over the shoulder, some in families of four or eight, wagons piled high with rickety wooden furniture and food, crates full of clothing, everything necessary to start a new life in Olon, hundreds of miles to the south. Farmers had tethered pigs to their carts, filled cages with squawking ducks, yoked teams of two or four water buffalo to haul the whole mess. Lean dogs threaded through the crowd, sniffing and growling, snapping at one another, ignoring the calls and commands of their owners in the chaos. The group—those leaving and those come to bid them farewell—had snarled traffic on the Godsway for hundreds of paces east and west, blocking porters and horses alike.

And this happens every week, Adare thought to herself.